Diary of a Drug Fiend

134 The Diary of a Drug Fiend when we left under the guidance of a very business-like Italian, who spoke English well. We caught the boat to Capri with plenty of time to spare, and regaled the consul’s clerk with all sorts of amusing anecdotes. He was very pleased to be treated on such a friendly footing. We went up to the Piazza in the Funicular with almost the sensation of soaring. It had been a devil of a mess; but five minutes more would see it at an end. And, despite my exaltation, I registered a vow that I would never do anything so foolish again, Of course, it was evident what had happened to Feccles. He had somehow failed to learn of our arrest, and was waiting at the hotel with impatient anxiety for our return. At the same time, it was rather ridiculous in that costume in broad daylight to have to ask the porter for one’s key. I could not at all understand his look of genuine surprise. That wasn’t simply a question of clothes— I felt it in my bones. And there was the manager, bowing and scraping like a monkey. He seemed to have lost his self-possession. The torrent of his words of welcome ran over a very rough bed. I couldn’t really grasp what he was saying for a moment, but there was no mistaking the import of his final phrase. “I’m so delighted that you've changed your mind, Sir Peter, but I felt sure you could never bear to leave Capri so soon. Our beautiful Capri! ’’ What the deuce was the fellow talking about? Change my mind? What I wanted to do was to change my clothes|! The consul’s clerk made a few rapid: explanations in Italian, and it almost hit me in the eye to watch the manager’s face as he lifted his eyes and saw the two obvious detectives in the doorway. ‘“‘T don’t understand,” he said with sudden anxiety.